There’s a strange love that you develop when you work in production. Although it takes up all your time and energy, it’s one of the few jobs that are actually fulfilling.
It takes a particular type of person to sacrifice their well-being to entertain you. Fourteen-hour days on set or ten in an editing bay is something we may complain about.
But sitting stagnant in the confines of a cubicle, like tiny puffs of cigarette smoke, would kill us little by little. Waiting for a customer to enter your establishment, especially on a slow day, will never match the rush of hearing, “We’re live in 3… 2… 1…,” or “Places,” or “Quiet on the set,” which silences your voice but sends your mind into overdrive.
The frantic pace of the newsroom treats every story as if it has the potential to end the world. In a twisted way, we are as equally excited by the latest bombing, riots, or natural disaster as we are appalled. Tragedies, while tragic, make for great storytelling. Most of us just want to report the facts, but some forget and instead twist the stories to fit their own agenda.
No matter what the forum, we’re all storytellers. Some are made up, and others are true.
It’s hard to leave all those worlds and become dormant. I wonder when I’ll finally snap and sink back into the life where I can’t do anything because “I have rehearsal” and start the vicious cycle all over again.
I can already feel the monster clawing under my skin. Words won’t keep it at bay for long.
